The Lunacy of Duchess Venomania
by The genius of genius
Summary: Twice, she had been scorned by love, and twice she had disgustedly thought herself a lunatic. Only now she was proud of it. Reverse "Lunacy of Duke Venomania", Mikulia seduces and marries Venomania and builds a harem. Meiko is Meilis the assassin, and Len is Lenkif the childhood friend. MikuxLen, MeikoxKaito, MikuxHarem and others. Rated T for sexual themes.
1. Chapter 1

This was not done by instinct.

Indeed, her instinct had never been set on finding love, or forbidden love, or true love, or young love or anything of the sort. In fact, as she was, to put it politely, a prostitute, you could say her job, her way of living, the food she ate and clothes she wore were fueled by lust. And lust stemmed, in her experience, from dead marriages, jealousy, grief, and self-loathing. It was the opposite of love.

Somewhere along the way she had given up the idea that she would have love. It started so long ago, with her childhood crush's cruel practices, and ended on the biting winter outlook that she stood out here, watching the kind young author whose sister was dying drive away into the night. But in between that, her sentiment should have withered. Instead, she realized that her love, and perhaps, she, was bound by no logic at all. For at no point did hatred for that young man of her past drive away her passionate love for him after all these years. And at no point did she catch herself, and scold herself for falling in love with the new man.

Pikalte Utano had visited her more and more frequently, looking like a scared puppy. And sooner or later, she managed to get him to talk to her. He let her know his sadness—she kept her own to herself for his sake. And she felt that her reservations to love had been nothing but induced, like everything, from that figure in her past. He was to be forgotten, and as she talked to Pikalte, as she noticed his true smile here and there become more frequent, as she watched his eyes become calmer and more relaxed, she let go of the part of herself that was constantly using an image of the old childhood friend to change. She had put so much on her love for that shadow of a boy—so, so much, that when a new man came into her life, it all crumbled and she was a new person.

This is why she was insane. Because everything was how she viewed herself to be in the future, and so the boy who was always a part of her life consumed her.

But Pikalte did not feel the same way, evidently. Instead, he felt that he was not predicting anything by his visits to her, and, like all business, he gave exactly what he took.

His last visit was when he made this clear to her. On his last visit she cried. And on his last visit, just after his horse got into the second crossroad from the brothel, she realized, as she saw in a blurry image, that a tall, blond woman was staring at her, with alert eyes, not cold or kind.

And in her right hand she clutched the sword.


	2. Chapter 2

She didn't know why she froze. She could have—should have—done something as soon as she realized some-one was looking at her. Ideally, looking back on it now, run her through with a spear.

This, of course, was not something Mikulia thought of right away. It only occurred to her years later, after all the events of her life directly affected by this night played out. The first thing she had wanted to do at that moment, granted, had been to walk up and slap the smirk—or was it an ambiguous grin…? Slap that smirk off her face.

It looked like a girl from the brothel. She was clearly beautiful….graceful. But As Mikulia raised her head she realized it could not be one of her colleagues. The women she lived with were not exactly undignified, but they knew that most of society would sneer at them if they got the chance, and so usually were cautious and sensitive, ready to jump back into the safety of the night if they felt some one scrutinizing them too closely. This woman was not sensitive or ready to go anywhere. She stood and looked down at Mikulia as though she had a purpose of vital importance and both the power and time to stay there until she fulfilled it. And as she tried to decide what to do, Mikulia felt a chill—either awe of fear—that made it seem like there were innate consequences of not meeting this person right away.

Slowly, she got to her feet. The woman lowered her face and stared at Mikulia with colorless eyes. The sword she was holding dropped to her feet. They stood there for a moment, Mikulia feeling as though the night was pressing in on the place, as though the world was waiting for something to happen. Finally, the woman spoke. Her voice was old, but not the soft or rickety type of babble that Mikulia heard from her grandparents. It was deep and powerful, almost motherly if it were not so cold and inhuman. "Pick it up." The woman extended her arm toward the sword, as though pointing to it, but as it was hidden by her sleeve, her meaning behind the gesture was ambiguous.

Sensing that she should, Mikulia stooped to grab the sword. But the moment her fingers brushed against its blade, a rush of fear went through her, causing her heart to beat wildly and her legs to weaken. Shrieking loudly, she recoiled and fell on her knees a few inches away.

The woman smiled. "You have good instincts, Mikulia. But what is that, really, when what you live for makes a fool of you?"

"What?" Mikulia breathed. Powerful as the woman was, Mikulia was still recovering from the shock of the sword and why she was here, crumpled up underneath the moon instead of sleeping in her bed, inside, that she barely listened to what the figure had said.

"Mikulia. That man who just drove away. Was he your lover? Or your client?"

Mikulia was now more shocked than ever, and while confused, she still felt protective of Pikalte. She could only nod.

"Ah." The woman nodded as well, as though this made perfect sense. Then, with a voice slightly to exuberant to be less than sharp and painful, "So there is no difference for you."

The anger that this conviction induced in Mikulia shook her out of her daze. "Who are you?" She demanded in an unsteady voice.

At this the woman leaned toward her slightly. "You only want love. And men are so reluctant to give it, aren't they?"

Mikulia felt a sour taste in her mouth. "Who are you, and how do you know my name, and what do you want and how could—" The woman cut her off. "You don't want to know my name or who I am. You want to know what I bring. I bring love." She picked up the sword and handed it to Mikulia, who instantly drew away from her. "I'm not touching that!" she shrieked. But the sword was forced into her hands. Instead of pain or heat, she felt nothing but cold. Her whole body stiffened and she shivered, just enough for her to know it was not the natural lack of warmth of metal. It seemed as though all the ice in the world had traveled into her veins. "Some feel warm when they touch this," the woman explained. "Some feel devastating heat. But you—" She reached out, her finger hovering over the blade. "You only feel cold. I can change that."

The woman's eyes, so previously lifeless, suddenly were dancing with color and life. Her skin became pale and soft. Her hair curled around her head in turquoise locks. And without ever seeming to change form, she was a perfect version of the girl in front of her. A prettier Mikulia. "You will find love with all men you wish. You will never be cold again." She touched the sword, and suddenly Mikulia was captivated. She was so….lovely. Superior. "And you will never be inferior again." The nervousness Mikulia felt turned into greed. And something else. Something warm. She didn't know why, but her smile came to mirror the woman's. "Just use its venom. Bring it to your heart. And it has to be the last time you bleed, or you misfortune will replace the power."

So Mikulia raised the sword. She brought it to her heart. And then there was unbearable heat.


	3. Chapter 3

Taut linen sheets woke her up, for they grated across her skin as she turned over andover in bed that night.

The heat that overtook her the previous night felt as though could have lasted for a second or a decade. She couldn't remember much, so it might not have been so long, but she also felt as though she had gone through a metamorphoses, great and terrifyingly powerful, that she could only equate to years of work on her body and mind.

That heat soon subsided, or else she grew unaware of it. Perhaps it was just because she was eventually so tired that she could no longer feel anything but a general warmth, a warmth like a dull fire sitting right in front of her might project. She had no longer sensed the kind goddess that brought her the sword, so she held the blade in her hand, watched as it shrunk to the size of a particularly beautiful pocketknife, concealed it in her sleeve and re-entered the brothel. She had appeared remarkably serene to the other women, which was strange considering the fact that the passionate, never calm Mikulia had just had her heart ground to a fine dust by an awkward customer. But to her, they were ugly faces that would soon fade from her mind as she became fully aware of her gift. So she had been half humoring herself as she crawled under the sheets of the bed. These mundane things she didn't need, so using them was mockery. Still, she had no trouble falling asleep to the lull of the night that had turned from unforgiving and cruel to gentle and docile.

By morning, she was lucid. She immediately knew something was wrong because she had already noticed her tolerance for the rough cotton before. When she first joined the brothel, she had barely ever gotten a decent night's sleep due to the fabric irritating her skin. She would wake up with rashes. But a month or so in, her skin had become numb and calloused, so she finally reclaimed her sleep.

But now, as she slowly sat up in bed, it seemed as though the pain in her arms alone was bringing back a shadow of the innocence she had felt when she left her family and thought of the brothel as a start in the journey to an exciting life on her own in a kingdom of love and hate and drama, a world of miracles.

She looked out the window and tried, nearly succeeding, to fit the sun and the trees and the birds that she could make out on snowy branches into that world. Just that little brush with her past idealism sent a wave of excitement over her, and slowly, as though trying to keep the trance of the early morning intact, her humming filled the cool air in her room. But it wouldn't reach the outside world. It never could. Never. Never.

She had come to the brothel a year ago.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello anyone who is or has read this in the past!**

**I would like to hereby announce that my story is utter trash.  
**

**I also apologize to anyone whoever read it and felt the sudden urge to throw up, especially after reading chapters 2 and 3, which, me being the idiot I am, decided not to edit after writing.  
**

**This is my first story and I have not been serious about writing in the past, so when I read this and vomited myself, I really should have seen it coming.  
**

**HOWEVER!  
**

**I will try to rectify the situation. I am in the process of rewriting chapter 3, and it will be longer and very different from the asdfghjkl JUNK it is now! Hopefully, it might even be better!  
**

**I will persevere, and maybe get an acknowledgement in the process, so if you actually read my story and have not tried to burn your computer, hang in there! I am taking the tool of CAREFUL THOUGHT and am coming in there to save you!  
**

**THAT WILL BE ALL  
**


End file.
